Sorry Stanley, we can't party like we are Charlie Sheen

Just when I thought no one wanted to come to NYC and hang out with me anymore, I came home and found Flat Stanley at my door waiting to start his NYC adventure. He came with instructions telling me to "take Stanley around my city while he is visiting and keep a journal of his exciting time". The instructions are quite ridiculous, since I very rarely, if ever, follow the instructions. I have decided to keep a photo journal, since I can not be bothered to write. I already had some great plans come to mind and thought I was going to show him a week he would never forget. Some early ideas:

~ Buying sex toys in the Village
~ Riding the mechanical bull at Johnny Utah's
~ a rousing game of "Poke the bum"
~ "Polar Bear swim" in the fountain at Washington Square Park
~ Drag Show
~ A historic trip to the Chelsea Hotel to see where Sid killed Nancy
~ Riding on the outside of the Subway car
~ Buying some heroin in Tompkins Square (don't judge, HE'S ON VACATION!!)
~ Going through the Phone Booth at Crif Dog (I bet he has never been to a Speakeasy)
~ Spitting off the Empire State Building
~ 5 words: NIGHT - CLUB - SWIM - UP - BAR in Time Square

Those were just the first ideas that came to mind. As I sat down to plan out his trip, I realized that the address to send Stanley off to is a...wait for it.... A CATHOLIC SCHOOL!!!!

Now being a prisoner product of Catholic School myself, I can see this being a vindication against the 13 years that institution robbed me of. I can't control my mind from thinking that maybe Stanley also needs to witness an abortion, attend a Gay marriage (and then covet the spouse), stand outside St. Peter's with a sign reading "Keep your Dogma on a leash"and get herpes from a hooker in the Bronx. However, the kid that sent this to me, also has a mother, and that mother trusted that her son would not be totally corrupted by Stanley's vacation has to show her face at PTA meetings.

Now I need help planning out Stanley's week. If the fun has to stay "Clean", I fear I know nothing about entertaining him. Please help, what would you do in NYC if you were as lame as the Catholic Church?

No silly, the Peep is NOT smoking Meth, he is having babies.

Maybe you haven't heard yet, but soon I will not be able to make cupcakes anymore. I haven't been this sad since NERF took all the fun out of the machine gun, which lets face it, ever since ammo turned to foam, we have all turned into a country of pussies. Kids no longer learn important lessons that can only be learned by a brutal game of Shoot the Freak....or wait, are we a nation of pussies because of the Snookie hair bump... no, no definitely because of NERF, and not because they ruined good American gun play, but because they spell there name in all caps which lead to the cap locks button being put on the keyboard, which led to old people YELLING EVERYTHING THEY TYPE ON FACEBOOK. NERF is probably to blame for Farmville, too. NERF is the devil!

I never thought my Easy Bake Oven would have "specialty parts" but now I have 10 months to collect as many 100-watt light bulbs as possible. (Beavis says: "hee hee, that's what the Meth addict said") My microwave and oven privileges have been removed ever since the Peeps Holocaust of 2008, which is still unfair since I REALLY thought that was how peeps made babies... It was an honest mistake that has ruined my dream of making the world's largest cake, because now I am stuck making only little teeny tiny cupcakes.... but now with this ban of 100 watt bulbs, I get NO cupcakes, not even my little tiny ones. Which is upsetting for 1 major reason: A cupcake's sole purpose in it's little life is to deliver mass amounts of rainbow sprinkles to my mouth. (It is kinda like how broccoli was made to deliver ranch)

Just another thing I am convinced NERF is responsible for.

DON'T FREAK OUT, BUT TOMORROW IS PINSTRIPE SUIT DAY!!!!!!

Old Awesome Me:
~ happy kicking it in my ripped up jeans and converse kicks.
~ not caring if my clothes meet societal standards on what matched since I am expert at tying the outfit together with knee high socks that contained a multitude of colors
~ a refreshing ale in my hand
~ messenger bag (minimal holes)
~ singing and dancing in the street because at least 1 dance party a day was mandatory and should be shared with traffic
~ unable to properly use ipod, since I still sing out loud
~ hilarious, at least in my own head
~ would rather spend $2.00 on Febreeze than $5.50 on laundry


Current Corporate Me:
~ no longer aware of what day of the week it is, since my days have been renamed Blue suit day, Black suit day, Gray suit day, Brown suit day, and Pinstripe Suit day.
~ walking into clothing stores and forcing myself to cry so a nice sales lady will take pity on me and tell me what clothes I need. (and by "forcing" I mean "have a debilitating anxiety attack from shopping and fall fetal position in a store sobbing like a blue haired lady watching Richard Simmons sweat to the oldies)
~ asking random people on the street if my shirt matches my suit, since I now have to care and I have lived 32 years without learning this skill.
~ wearing something called "Trouser socks" everyday (I can't make this crap up)
~ Brushing my hair
~ required to dry cleaning 40% of all my clothes
~ having my sense of humor sucked away faster than my soul


Seeing as though it has only taken 3 weeks to get to this new me, I think I need to start accepting that I will be "I NEVER MEANT TO BE THIS PERSON me". If I have done the math right, by August 23, 2011 this will be an accurate description of me:

I NEVER MEANT TO BE THIS PERSON AND AM TOTALLY EMBARRASSED ABOUT IT me
~ Always holding my No Fat Sugar Free Soy Venti Cold press Chai Latte With a Shot
~ Running home from work to assure I am not late to my pilates class
~ arguing with co-workers that my Coach bag is in fact real
~ Blue Tooth in ear
~ The only meal I know is organic salads
~ Sitting at dinner talking about the stimulating article I read in the New York Times about the stock market
~ looking back at "Old Awesome Me" and saying "That's not funny, that's stupid, why would midgets be funny?"

Moral of the story: I am REALLY good at Crossword puzzles

You ever find yourself in a situation and have no clue how you got there?

Like the time I found myself wearing a tiara and angle wings at the mall trying to buy petrified poo at Spencer's or the time I found myself single-handedly leading a group of 100+ drunks in my version of the Chicken Dance while wearing booty shorts and knee high rainbow socks or the time I woke up in a neighbors apartment at 5pm surrounded by baby dolls that all had bodies painted hot pink and their heads torn off or the time I was at a Bacholrette party in Huntsville, AL with a bunch of girls I barely knew where I proceeded to dress the bride in a toga and took her out for a fancy dinner at Taco Bell. Though these are moments in my life that I have no explanation for, I can accept that they are just quick moments that I was able to sober up and move on from. It has been many moons since I have lived a true "How The Hell Did I Get Here?" moment. I thought these moments had come to an end in my life due to being too old to have fun the fact that finishing my Crossword puzzle before bed is about all the fun I can handle these days, but it seems 2011 is a time of renewed hope in the "How The Hell Did I Get Here?" moments. I just never would have guessed the sick Karma it would entail.

It wasn't long ago that I was sitting at home in my pajamas watching daytime tv while drinking wine and eating popcorn, trying to determine the main demographic for court tv by the style of commercials being shown. (So far I have decided that the main demographic is old black ladies with dentures, diabetes, feminine itch, problems controlling urination and an affinity for yogurt and renting computers so they can sell their gold online.) I was working a job where I was getting spit on by schizophrenics, leading dance parties while wearing my "work Sombrero", not to be confused by my "couch tiara", using words like "asshat"and "douche bag" and making pets out of my office supplies. ie:
I wore comfortable clothing and continued to point and laugh at all the Yuppies on the train wearing suits while I tapped dance every morning just to prove how comfortable my footwear was. I knew EXACTLY how I got to this point.....years of drunken decision making.

You can imagine my horror when I woke up a week ago and proceeded to........ put on a business suit, heeled shoes, took the train to downtown Manhattan, got off at the Wall St. station and proceeded to my corner office at a nonprofit worth $6mil, where I spent the day talking with the CEO because I am directly under her in the chain of command. It took until about 9am for me to look around and question "How The Hell Did I Get Here (and why do my feet hurt so damn bad?".

Apparently, I have turned into a Yuppie over night. I do not have the slightest clue how I got here and something tells me that simply sobering up is not going to help this one. Karma hits with a vengeance. I know I have done some bad things in my life (although, I still hold to the story that I thought it was Hungry Hungry Hippo laying dormant waiting to pounce when I stomped on that sleeping bum). I am what I have feared for my entire life, I am a Young Urban Professional, and now I wear my scarlet letter as a blazer 5 days a week.

Ultimately, I blame Scott Baio. If he hadn't stepped down, I would not have to be in charge.